


Being Boring

by Stacy LA Stronach (slashgirl)



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: AU, Community: trope_bingo, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashgirl/pseuds/Stacy%20LA%20Stronach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today was different. REALLY different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Boring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for trope bingo on dreamwidth.
> 
> prompt of au:human (free space)
> 
> This prompt gave me absolute fits (probably why I want to include this as part of my claim); ALL my fandoms that I write in are human. So, I had to take another direction with this one.... I hope it works.
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta reader, sounding board and good friend, nebula99. You rock!

Michael Westen awoke slowly, his head pounding. This was not his usual rise to consciousness; whatever the circumstances he was always awake and aware within seconds. 

But not today.

Awareness trickled in: he could hear the soft hum of an air conditioner; he was sleeping on very high thread count sheets in silky pyjama pants; there was a block of sunlight warming his undershirt clad chest. These things didn't feel quite right and opening his eyes confirmed Michael's first impressions. He was not in his apartment over the night club.

He was, however, in a very masculine bedroom. It was decorated in black, white and greys. The bed was king size (and he currently had no company) and centred along one wall. There were black night tables to each side, but no sign of clocks or phones on them; dressers were against the opposite wall. To his right, a large closet with mirrored doors and another door which probably led to the en suite; opposite that wall was a small desk with a laptop computer and door leading into the rest of the apartment.

Michael sat up slowly, the throbbing in his head seemed to be lessening. With no memory of where he was or how he'd even gotten here, Michael knew he had to be cautious. After all, he'd made more than a few enemies over the years. 

He listened for a few minutes, stretching out his arms and legs as he did so and moving enough to ascertain that he wasn't injured or restrained. The headache felt more like a hangover than a reaction to any drugs or sedatives. The only thing he could hear seemed to be the noise from a TV or a radio.

He turned so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed and looked at the carpeted floor before putting his feet down. Michael stood and walked across the bedroom to the window—looking outside he recognised the skyline. Still in Miami, at least. 

He trod silently to the main door and turned the handle with care. There was no resistance so it wasn't locked; he pulled it open cautiously, listening, peering out to see if there were any guards. Nothing. Michael frowned, it was just plain strange. Not that he was a stranger to, well, strangeness. 

Moving down the hallway toward the source of the noise, Michael came to the living room. The big screen TV was tuned to the news and there, sitting in a recliner, was Sam Axe. 

Michael scanned the room, there didn't seem to be anyone else around except for Sam. "Sam?" he said, walking to where his friend could see him.

Turning, Sam grinned. "Hey, Mikey, finally decided to join the land of the living, did you?"

Sam didn't appear to be concerned, so Michael took that as a good sign. "Uh, yeah, about that. Where are we?"

Frowning, Sam stared at Michael. "We're at home."

"Whose home? And where's Fiona?"

"We'd be in _our_ home and who the hell is Fiona?" Sam demanded, getting to his feet. He walked over to where Michael stood, his face a mix of concern and anger.

"Fiona Glenanne, my girlfriend."

"Michael, I know you had a lot to drink last night, but did you fall and hit your head? You'd better not have a girlfriend—you do remember that I'm your husband, have been for over a year now?" Sam reached out, truly concerned. He stroked his hands up and down Michael's bare arms.

Sam's touch sparked a cascade of memories in Michael. They weren't _his_ memories, but the ones of whatever bizarre universe Michael Westen he'd fallen into or become or whatever. And it hurt, physically. Michael groaned and grabbed at his head, which was throbbing worse now than it had when he first awoke.

"Hey, c'mon buddy, sit down. I'll get you some water—want some aspirin?" Sam asked, guiding Michael to sit on the nearby sofa. He hurried to the adjoining kitchen and was back quickly with a glass and some pills.

Michael took both gladly and leaned back, his eyes closed. He had no idea where he was or what had happened but according to this other set of memories, he was, indeed, married to Sam Axe. They worked for an advertising company—Sam was one of the Account Executives—the best in the company. No surprise there. What did surprise Michael was the he, himself, was an _accountant_. He couldn't see it really.

Sam slid his arm around Michael's shoulders and pulled him close. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked. 

"Yeah, I think I'll live."

"Okay, now that we've got that settled. Who is Fiona?"

Fortunately, Michael retained the ability to think on his feet—or his ass, as the case may be. "Must've been from my dream, Sam. It was pretty intense. In it I was a spy and had a girlfriend named Fiona Glenanne."

"Pretty specific for a dream," Sam said, eyes narrowing.

Michael shrugged. "Honestly, Sam. You know how weird dreams can be. I don't know what city I was supposed to be spying in, but I knew the girlfriend's name. Dreams don't follow logic." He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss against Sam's mouth. It felt weird but right at the same time. 

Sam kissed him back, pulling Michael into a hug. The kiss ended and Michael laid his head on Sam's shoulder. They sat quietly for a few minutes. Michael wished his brain was as calm as he appeared to be; his mind was whirling with all the new information that seemed to have been dumped into it.

"Hey, we do need to go into work—you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Just need to shower and get ready. You should've woken me earlier."

"You needed your rest. You go and get your shower and I'll have some breakfast ready when you're done."

Michael nodded his agreement as he stood up. He jumped when Sam swatted his ass. "Hey, don't damage the goods," he joked.

Sam just laughed and waved him off. "Go on, we don't want to be late."

Back in the bedroom, Michael opened what he knew was his side of the closet; at least he had good taste in suits if not in careers. He pulled out what he wanted to wear. He paused to look in the mirror, leaning in close. Most of the scars he used to have weren't there anymore but other than that he looked exactly like Michael Westen…the Michael Westen who was a spy, not an accountant.

Sighing, he walked through to the bathroom and started the shower—he wanted it as hot as he could stand it. Climbing under the spray, he allowed his mind to wander through the information it was presenting him about…wherever this was. 

Several of his former colleagues and enemies from his real life were at the ad agency he worked at. Carla, Bly, Vaughn, Victor, Larry, Management…. He couldn't escape them, it seemed. He let his thoughts turn to family—at least that seemed the same. His mom was still in Miami and from what he could tell via his memories, pretty much the same. Nate was here as well, though he seemed more mature and responsible.

"MIKE!! C'mon, we need to get a move on!"

Sam's voice startled Michael out of his reverie. He finished his shower, dried off and got dressed. Once done, he headed out to have breakfast.

By lunch time, Michael thought he was going to lose his mind. And not from the conflicting memories, either. Being the head of accounting, even at a large firm like this was boring. Deathly boring. Michael was good at the job, but he hoped this was really some dream he'd wake up from. Or maybe he'd died and this was hell? That would be one explanation…although it seemed having Sam as his husband wasn't hellish. Well, no more hellish than having him as his best friend.

At ten to twelve, Michael's phone buzzed with a text from Sam, saying he wouldn't be able to make it for lunch as a client meeting had run over time. Michael messaged back, asking if Sam wanted him to get him anything. Michael smiled at his reply: "The usual."

Michael almost ran out of his office and the building. He didn't understand how anyone could enjoy that sort of job. He walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant he and Sam frequented. It was a bright, beautiful Miami day and he needed the air and sunshine. 

About a block away from the restaurant, Michael saw her on the other side of the road. It was Fiona. He had to catch her, maybe she could help him, maybe she'd know what was going on.

"Fiona! Fi!" he yelled, waving his arm trying to get her attention. She didn't seem to notice him at all. Michael edged his way through the sidewalk crowd to the edge of the road. "Fiona!" he called again. Still nothing. 

He had to get to her; he had to talk to her. Glancing quickly at the traffic, he started to dart across the road. So intent was he on watching Fiona that he didn't notice the car headed straight for him until it hit him. Flying through the air, he called out her name, again and she was his last thought before he fell unconscious.

 

Michael Westen awoke as he always did: aware within seconds. He sat up and looked around…and breathed a sigh of relief. He was in _his_ apartment and, glancing at the bed beside him, yes, he still had a girlfriend. And she looked exactly like Fiona Glenanne. 

Getting out of bed, Michael walked over to the fridge and grabbed a yogurt, leaning on the counter to eat it. He had just had the weirdest dream it had felt like he was living another life, parallel to his own but so very different. 

"You're up early," Fiona said, standing in the middle of their bed and stretching.

"Yeah, had a really intense dream," Michael said between spoonfuls of yogurt. He watched appreciatively as Fiona walked nude across the room. She moved behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. 

"Mmm. Intense good or intense bad?"

"A bit of both?" he laughed. "In it, I was still me, but it was like I was in a different universe but still me…just with a different life. You weren't my girlfriend and I was married to Sam…and worst of all? I was an _accountant_ ; I found that mind numbingly boring," Michael said, shuddering, glad it had only been for the length of the dream—doing that for the rest of his life would've driven him crazy. Normal was not something Michael Westen wanted.

"Wow and accountant AND married to Sam Axe," she replied, grinning. "Definitely sounds like a nightmare to me."

Turning around in her embrace, Michael laughed. "Sam's not that bad. But the accounting thing? That's just not who I am…even with people trying to kill me, I'd rather be a spy than anything else." He leaned down to kiss Fiona, moaning as she responded.

They made their way back to the bed. Fiona pushed Michael down, laughing as he tried to pull her on top of him. "You forgot the best thing about being here and not in your nightmare world, Michael."

"And what's that?" he asked, sitting up to grab Fiona around the waist.

"Me," she said, claiming his mouth in a kiss.


End file.
